


King and Kingdom

by Ook



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Blow Jobs, First Time, James McAvoy should be illegal or at least come with a set of warnings, M/M, Making up culture and succession laws for all fun and no profit ×, More of the sex, Porn With Plot, Reading the Golden Bough was not helpful, Ritual Sex, Several orgasms, Some of the sex, The consent is dubious, Virginity, Yet more fantasy equivalents of lube, Yet more fun with metallokinesis, as is the author, if you know what i mean, kinkmeme prompt, loss of, nippleplay, sorta dubcon because of ritual?, the king and the land get to be as one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ook/pseuds/Ook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Before the King takes up his crown; he must be taken by his Kingdom.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Prompt is here. </p><p>http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/9701.html?thread=21543653#t21543653</p><p>I added a few random details because I can't write short things. </p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. King-to-Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Synekdokee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/gifts).



> So very sorry, porn (and Erik) in the next chapter. This is scenery, really.

_“Before the King takes up his crown; he must be taken by his Kingdom.”_

That is one of the sayings, and indeed, the custom and law, here in Westchester. Quite how it started, no one knows. Or is saying. Charles has tried to research this, along with other historical points, but life as Crown Prince and heir to the aforementioned crown and kingdom have left him with little time for idle scholarly pursuits, of late. He stares at the fire, blankly, and tries to concentrate on his stepfather’s words, and not the scorn, jealousy and bone-deep resentment that oozes from the man’s mind.

What passes for his mind.

“Yes, sir.” Charles nods along, vaguely. Kurt snorts. Charles wishes he were the sort of royal that had access to undetectable assassins; and also the kind of man who would use them. He supposes he’s lucky that Kurt knows enough to be aware that he’s only Regent because of his role as Sharon’s husband; with either her or Charles out of the way, his power and influence dwindles to nothing, or he’d have killed Charles and his mother before Charles was ten. As it is, he’s survived all the way into adulthood, very nearly. Charles Francis, of the House Xavier, will turn 18 next month, old enough to be crowned King of Westchester at last.

Various rulers have interpreted the tradition of the being taken by the Kingdom in various ways. A hundred years ago, King Brian III made a woman out of clay, and married her before the face of his people, during his coronation. There was muttering, but he stayed King. Apparently the mannequin was his favourite wife; and she’s still in the suite of rooms he preferred. She never complained, never grew tired or bored, wore exactly what he wanted her to and smiled all the time. 

Unlike Brian’s other, flesh and blood wife, who, it was rumoured, never smiled; but, unlike her clay sister-wife _she_ was able to give him an heir. Queen Cassandra refused to marry at all; claiming the crown was her wedding ring and all the people of Westchester her children. There was, again, more muttering at this, but she was an able Queen, and held onto her throne. She ruled long, and magnificently, and was remembered as much for that as for the decade long struggle for the throne she left behind her.

But most of them have settled for what his stepfather is insisting Charles must undergo next month, before his coronation as he comes of age, and his stepfather’s Regency ends. The Offering, with suitable ominous capital letters, is a simple enough thing, at heart. The ruler to be lies on the stone bed in the holy cavern of Genosha, and waits for whomever the Kingdom (or the gods) send along. Said representative of the Kingdom takes the King-to-be (or Queen); and thus, the gods, tradition, law and Westchester are, hopefully, satisfied.

“As you say, sir.” He says to Kurt, politely. Kurt sneers; he’s angry his little time of importance is coming to an end. Most of the court know he doesn’t have the heir’s ear, or trust, so the number of bribes he’s getting will diminish, abruptly, after next month. Charles cannot love or respect the man who has done so much to erase every possible memory of Charles’ father, and done his best to keep his mother a hopeless, helpless drunk, so he doesn’t much care.  
“Just make sure you’re ready when the time comes.” Kurt says, roughly, and leaves, without a backwards glance.

It is not exactly the way Charles would choose to be deflowered, by a complete stranger, but if it was all bad, the tradition would have been quietly allowed to lapse, surely? 

Surely. Charles eases the tightness of his collar with a finger, and swallows. Still, if he wants his crown, and he does- the kingdom has _suffered_ through Charles’s childhood due to Kurt’s Regency- he so wants to be able to hand the crown to his son, rather than his stepson, but alas, Kurt’s royal blood comes from a child begotten on the stone table by a past king, and although that doesn’t make his line a bastard one, it is acknowledged that no child of the Kingdom’s representative and the King (or Queen) can take the throne.

It would lead to spiritual incest, apparently. What will the priests think of next?

So quietly, Charles does some more research, driving out fear with at least theoretical knowledge of sexual activities people seem to enjoy, and ways in which he can restrict his telepathy so as not to hurt his partner. Along the way he learns that the cavern of Genosha itself blocks telepathy from leaving- or entering it; something to do with the stone it formed in, millions of years ago. This means that whatever happens will be private, which Charles hopes, will make it easier.

Absently, thinking of that spiritual incest, Charles spends a grateful moment or several thanking all the gods and the Kingdom that stepbrothers count as blood family. Cain has been loud in his disappointment over that fact. Charles wonders why, since he knows perfectly well that Cain hates him even more than Kurt does, Cain wants to fuck him, and decides he probably doesn’t want to find out. Ever.

Charles washes himself, carefully, in the ritual waters drawn from the cavern spring- ritual meaning bloody cold and smelling vaguely of minerals- and pulls on a simple pair of trousers and a plain shirt. He doubts they’re coming back from the cave in one piece, somehow. His stomach is in one tight knot, and he waves away the carefully selected trays of food and wine the maids offer him, with apologies. He can’t eat a bite, he says, and they nod understandingly. 

Moira, the oldest servant, and a woman he has known his entire life, tells him all will be well. He smiles tensely at her, and, when she abandons servantly protocol long enough to pat his shoulder, he abandons royal protocol long enough to hug her, tightly, until the priests come to convey him, barefoot and bareheaded, to the holy Caverns of Genosha. He wonders who runs the lottery or controls the passageways that lead there as he walks them.

Charles is not stupid and he’s not naïve. There is no way the rulers of Westchester have, over the past thousand years, not come up with a way to prevent the diseased, the distressing or the discounted from deflowering royalty. Whoever lies with the king-to-be will gain power, influence, or at the very least, be assured of an eager and virgin fuck, and no court or monarch is going to leave _that_ to chance, or the whim of the Kingdom.

The underground air is cool, and the floor is damp and earthy under his bare feet. Charles straightens his spine and raises his head proudly, and hopes no one can tell how damp his palms are. He can’t eat anything, still, but he regrets not having a glass of fortiswine, while it was on offer. The caverns offer nothing but springwater. The procession halts, and Charles looks into the vague, clouded eyes of his mother, and hopes, rather desperately, she doesn’t call him Brian as she sometimes does.

She holds a cup, and Kurt fills it with a sneering look that could almost be taken for respectful. It is presented to Charles, and his nose wrinkles at the smell. _Holdfast._ And… something else, he can’t quite recognise. Kurt smiles, tightly. Cain is grinning.  
“It makes you ready.” The priest behind him says, more or less kindly. Charles nods; he knows that’s what holdfast does. He also knows he has no more choices to make. He takes the cup.

Frankly, he needs help right now, from somewhere. The cup’s contents are more likely to be helpful than his family.

Charles gulps it all down, and it burns, burns through him. He sways, dizzy almost at once. Kurt leads Sharon and the other hangers on away, leaving Charles with Cain, and the priests. Cain grins, looking him over from head to heel, as the priests cut away his shirt, and lay Charles down on the smooth, ancient stone.  
“Enjoy your night, _brother_. I hope it’s memorable.” he sneers, and Charles feels a stab of fear. Cain is planning something. Why is he still here? Is he-? 

But the priests are leaving, and they take Cain away with them, leaving Charles safe and alone in the Cavern of Genosha, waiting for his Kingdom. Waiting to be taken, he thinks, and flushes. The sounds of the priests’ footfalls fade away down the corridor and are replaced with total silence. He shifts restlessly, hot and needy, now, as the holdfast starts to burn within him truly. And… the shadows seem to be moving. The torches flicker, in an unfelt breeze. Charles lifts his head, startled, and they subside. He sweeps out with his mind. 

Nobody is there.

For a moment Charles relaxes, knowing Kurt and Cain are out of his mind’s range, and then desire stabs through him again. He moans. He is so hot. Where is-? and then it all clicks into place, and Charles’ heart freezes. The strength of the drugs in the ritual cup. Cain’s triumph, so ill-hidden. Kurt’s scorn. The empty, empty passages all around him. Even his mother’s drunkenness. Nobody is there, and nobody is coming, because that is how the Markos have planned it.

Leave the Crown Prince writhing and begging for relief, release that will not come for the whole of the ritual day and night, and even if Charles’s mind and body survive undamaged, he will still be judged not be fit for the crowning. If Westchester sends no representative to take him, he cannot take the crown. Charles stays a puppet prince still, for the Markos. And, oh, he needs, he _needs_ , now. Charles bites his lip, and then he groans, _needing_ and knowing he will remain unsatisfied. 

He is burning brighter than any torch, but no one will warm their hands at his fire; it will simply consume him.


	2. Kingdom, Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having met Charles, now please meet Erik.
> 
>  
> 
> ...
> 
>  
> 
> There is some porn in this chapter. At last.

Erik is lost. It’s odd. His gift with metal usually extends to knowing where North is, but not, apparently, underground. He curses; why did he think coming back to Westchester was a good idea? Fortunately, although the web of passageways in the Underhold have somehow mysteriously shifted since he was a boy, scrambling though them, they have enabled him in losing his pursuers as well as his way. Erik shrugs. 

He’ll get out eventually. Growing up, all the boys of the city used to wander here, when they could- and no small number of the girls, either, Erik remembers, with a fond smile. The candle sellers made a _fortune_ The passages all lead somewhere, sooner or later, he remembers that much, and he has food with him. There’s plenty of water, always, in the rocky deeps under the caverns of Genosha.

He’ll not starve or die of thirst before he finds his way, even if it is dark.

He stubs a toe, and curses. A rock skitters away from him, and he grabs at the wall of the passage. It’s only his creeping paranoia, of course, but it feels like something or someone is laughing at him. There’s a cool breath on his neck which is just the breeze, not an unknown stalker. Still, he can’t go back- mistaken identities are better sorted out in the light of the day, by serious, sober men, not a pack of drunken yelling lunatics- so he must go on. 

At least it’s dry. Faintly, Erik hears noises, and stops, waiting to see if they get louder, or fade away. They don’t sound like angry (and drunken) gamblers; and he breathes, standing quietly in the dark. He knows there’s some noble ceremony tonight; it’s why he picked the caverns to hide in. The common access points to the caves are all closed off, or guarded, and the labyrinthine ways that thread through the steep rock will therefore be empty of thieves, prostitutes, children, pedlars, courting couples, the homeless and religious maniacs. 

Well, apart from the royal families’ priests.

The worst thing that would happen, Erik calculated, was getting detained by the Palace Guard for wandering too close to worship; and that would keep him out of the crowd’s grasp until they sobered up and counted their winnings again. And that ought to be enough for him to sweet talk his way out- Westchester born and raised, travelling long years to arrive home; so sorry your honoured nobleness, never happen again- Erik knows how to sound plausible.

It helps that it’s mostly the truth.

Erik has been travelling, trading, trying to find who murdered his mother and attempted to destroy their House. The crime had happened outside Westchester, as they travelled to see his father’s relatives. It had left Erik a wandering, penniless ne’er-do well. Long years of hunting and scraping to get by, while he grew from a wounded boy into a dangerous man. He located the man, dealt with him, and wandered a bit more, before deciding to see what Westchester can do for him now he’s grown. 

Erik likes to think of himself as dangerous in many ways.

But still, when he hears the whimpering- low, miserable sobs that hook into his gut and _pull_ \- he walks towards them, not away. He may be a hard man, a dangerous one, but he cannot ignore misery like that, someone crying, alone in the dark. Maybe some child’s got lost or something. And they must be alone. No one could hear distress and desperation like that, and not do something, but the sobs continue. They drag at Erik’s hearing, rough with misery, and set his teeth on edge.

Erik starts to move faster. To run.

Erik stops, when the dimness of the passageway begins to brighten into distant torchlight, after he hears the moaning. That… is not the sound of a child, in distress. Is not, really, distress, he thinks, then, until the moans break into gasping desperate sobs again. what is going on? Vague memories surface; underground rituals; sacrifices and bindings, but his Westchester childhood lessons are too far away from Erik to recall precisely what they entail; other than the caverns. 

He moves forwards cautiously. Slowly, Erik’s eyes adjust to the torches, which look as if they have been burning for a while; at least a turn of the glass, if not more. The gasping misery trails off, but not before, this close to the source, Erik can identify the voice as belonging to a male. He shuffles quietly towards the entrance to the cavern, and stops dead, frozen in place by the glorious, improbable sight before him.

A pale young man, the most beautiful Erik has ever laid eyes on, writhes against a stone slab.

All he wears are an unremarkable pair of tan trousers. His skin is stark ivory in the kind light of the torches, and his eyes, when they open, to fix on Erik with a desperate entreaty, are a stunning, luminous blue. His mouth is so lushly shaped and red, Erik is sure it must be painted, an illusion. Perhaps the whole thing is an illusion.  
“Please…” the young man says, beckoning imperiously towards Erik’s shadow. “Please help me. It _hurts_ ” and he blinks, incredible eyes glistening.

Erik shakes himself, and moves into the chamber. The gods do not immediately strike him dead, and he cannot see any priests hanging about waiting to castigate him for blasphemy, so he breathes out in a sigh of relief and hastens up to the poor sick young man. Carefully, Erik sniffs , trying to smell fever, or bad air or worse.  
“What… What’s wrong?” he says, putting a hand on the other’s wrist to take his pulse. It’s rabbit-quick, but strong.

“I.” The young man says, vaguely. “The holdfast. Too much. And. And nobody’s here-“  
“I’m here.” Erik says, and then the smell on the young man’s breath hits him, about the same time as his words, and Erik knows what’s wrong. Some prize genius has dosed the man- boy, practically- with the finest and most expensive aphrodisiac in the Five Realms, and then left him there. Erik‘s somewhat surprised the young man hasn’t pulled his own cock off; his desperation is so great.

“What’s your name?” Erik says, and looks about for a way out. He can run, fetch a priest or a servant of love, and-  
“Charles.” The young man says. “And nobody’s coming.” Erik stares at him.  
“I knew a Charles once.” He says, randomly. Charles gives him a strained smile and taps his temple, knowingly.  
“I’d hear them, you see. No-one’s near enough. All I can hear is you. They can’t have planned for you. How did you get in?” Erik gapes.

“That is the cruellest thing I have ever- Hey!“ Charles’ head is lolling. “Don’t pass out on me.”

 _“Please.”_ Charles says, through gritted teeth. “It might be easier if I did.”  
“But that could-“ Charles nods, weary and resigned. Erik feels cold. And angry. This is a slow form of torture, a bloodless near-murder. This Charles cannot be a criminal; even if the laws of Westchester have changed vastly since Erik was last here, there no sentence like this on the books, Erik is sure.  
“I can’t think.” Charles says, and bites his lip. “I- this is dangerous; I- my telepathy. I could. Make. You.” He writhes again, gasping, and Erik makes up his mind. He drops his pack in the dust by Charles’s feet.

He leans forwards, bending over Charles, and when his astounding eyes flicker open again, Erik kisses him, slow, and deep. Kisses him again, and again, and again.  
“Oh.” Charles says, dazed. “Oh.” Shakily, Charles’s hands come to rest on Erik’s face. Erik groans, slightly, at the touch, into Charles’ mouth. Charles smiles, slightly. Then he frowns, babbling.  
“Are you- Please, I- I can’t _think._ ” 

“I think I can help with that.” Erik murmurs, and moves to shed his cloak. 

He climbs onto the stone slab, holding himself over Charles and grins, a little wildly to himself. He’s had worse evenings, really. Charles arches his back and gasps. Erik kisses him again, and Charles shakes and moans as the fabric of Erik’s tunic scrapes across his burning nipples. Pleased, Erik kisses him again, until Charles is babbling again, caught between kiss and cloth. Erik slides down and goes for Charles’s waistband.

Erik swears to himself as he fights Charles’ trousers. He can see now why Charles wasn’t able to help himself; the trousers have a ridiculous number of metal buttons and clips. Erik glares them into submission with his gift easily enough, once he stops trying to preserve the trousers for future generations. The buttons all congeal into one sheepish lump of metal and Erik peels the trousers off Charles, leaving him bare to the cool cavern air. 

“Oh…” Charles moans, eyes squeezed shut as Erik takes him in hand. “oh, please…”

Erik likes what he sees, under Charles’s clothes. He knew Charles was smooth and pale, with artfully arranged freckles above the waist; it’s good to know Charles is equally stunning below the waist. Erik licks his lips, absently, and Charles moans again, stiffening even further in Erik’s hand.  
“Easy, now.” Erik says, and he waits for Charles to open his eyes again, before he bends and takes Charles into his mouth.

Charles shrieks, just once, and then Erik begins to lick, to suck and nibble, gently along Charles’s shaft, and the young man goes still, rigid with sensation and desire. Erik hums to himself. He’s not teasing, but Erik makes sure not to be forceful, not until he thinks Charles will like it. Erik tastes an encouraging spurt of precome, and he slides Charles into his mouth until he’s nosing into Charles’s pubic hair. Charles’ face screws up, and he looks as if he is in pain. Erik hums again, and moves his tongue, just so.

The noise Charles makes when he comes down Erik’s throat is scarcely human.


	3. King and Country

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is sex, olive oil and goats cheese. 
> 
>  
> 
> But mostly sex.

Erik swallowed, rolled onto his side, and coughed, carefully.  
“Better?” He said, cheerfully, working at his jaw to get the stiffness out.  
“... Yes.” Charles said, in a small voice. Concerned, Erik tilted his head. Charles was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling stiffly.  
“What's wrong?” he asked, as gently as he could.  
“I.. I thought it would take longer than that.” Charles said, quietly. “They give- I'm supposed to be down here a day and a night.” He shifted. “And you... you didn't...”

“I had plenty of fun, believe me.” Erik said. “And of course it didn't take long; you were half out of your mind on holdfast.” Charles shifted again. Erik sat up on one elbow. “And, I've forgotten most of my Westchesterian habits; but I'm pretty sure whichever ritual we're undertaking, we're allowed more than one go.” He smiled, invitingly. It wasn't as if he had anywhere he needed tpo be; and Charles was, among other things, spectacularly easy on the eye.  
“You're... you're from Westchester?” Charles said, breathlessly.  
“Originally.” Erik said, carefully. “Haven't been home in years, but yes.” 

Charles shifted yet again, awkwardly, and the penny dropped.

“Holdfast's still working away, then?” Miserably, Charles nodded.  
“I don't understand why people take it for fun.” he said, more to himself than to Erik.  
“Probably they don't get overdosed.” Erik said aloud _or left alone afterwards by **bastards**_ he added, mentally, girding himself for a long and hopefully pleasurable night. Charles' eyes widened and his lips parted.  
“Do you... w-what do you want me to do?” Charles said, stammering slightly.

“What do you like doing?” Erik said, promptly. Charles blinked, confused, and still twitching under the drug's influence.  
“I- I liked what we... that thing you did. It was... good.” he said, slowly, flushing. “But I haven't- and you didn't... I never-” Erik kissed him. Of course he hadn't. Why else would such a handsome, noble lad be down here?  
“I see.” he said, when they pulled apart.

“I-I'm a quick learner.” Charles said, hopefully.

“Well, Charles...” Erik said, soft and low. “I would really like to teach you what it feels like to be fucked by me.” Charles's mouth dropped open, and his eyes darkened with desire.  
“I think I would like that, too.” he said. “Right now.” he added firmly, shortly afterwards.  
“Your wish.” Erik said, sitting up to pull his tunic off over his head. “Is my command.”  
“Very well.” Charles said, very lordlike, and then ruined his act by adding “What should I-?” as Erik stood up again to wrestle himself out of the last of his clothing.  
“Relax.” Erik said, smiling.  
“J-just that?” Charles said, and shifted, uncomfortably aroused, still.

Naked, Erik fumbled in his pack for his bottle of oil of olives. He had never been so glad that butter could not be transported easily. Smiling, he turned back to the stone table. Charles' gaze drifted down over Erik's body; stopped, sharply at Erik's waistline. His eyes widened. Erik smiled, perhaps a little smugly. But well. He had plenty to be smug about, didn't he?  
“Um.” Charles said,and shivered. “You're very- will it fit...?”  
“Thank you, Charles.” Erik said. “And yes-” he held the bottle up. “With a little help, it will.”

Charles nodded, half hypnotized.

Gently, Erik got Charles to roll over, so he was lying on his side. Slowly, he kissed his way down Charles; back, paying particular attention to the archipelagos of freckles, until he reached the base of Charles' spine. Staring at Charles softly curved arse, he yielded to temptation, and bit, softly, at one cheek. Ripe and delicious. Charles squawked.  
“Hmmm. Tasty.” Erik said, and began circling the stubborn little pucker with one oil coated finger. Charles twitched, and gasped. 

Slowly, very slowly, Erik began to ease one long, slender finger into the hot tightness of Charles' hole.  
“Oh.” Charles said, aloud. “Oh, oooh, Erik!” He moaned. Erik silently prayed for self restraint.  
“Breathe.” Erik said. “That's only one finger. You have so much more to enjoy.” Charles moaned again. Erik poured more oil over his fingers, and eased another finger in, and after more stretching, another. Charles scrabbled at the edge of the table, and gripped it, tightly.

When Erik felt Charles was ready- more than ready, Charles insisted, somewhat wildly, Erik replaced his fingers with his cock. He had to stop, after he completed his first slow slide into Charles, and fight, biting his lip, not to come on the spot; gripped by Charles' tight heat. It was one of the most challenging moments of self control he had ever experienced.  
“More.” Charles said, sharply. “Please, don't stop, don't stop _now!_ ” Erik groaned.  
"As- you- command-” Erik jerked out, roughly, and then, steady, inexorable, he began to move.

Charles rose to meet him, and then they moved together, straining towards that peak. 

“I- -I- _Erik_!” Wildly, Charles fumbled for his own cock, and began to stroke himself. Erik found enough breath to laugh, briefly, at the unexpected glory of his night. Charles made an interesting noise as the vibrations of Erik's amusement shivered through him.  
“Come on, come on!” Erik coaxed him, and Charles found the pleasure swirling through him spinning,spinning into a dazzling crest. He yelled, and came, shuddering, streaking the stone slab with wet white stripes.

As Charles went limp, drowning in sensation, Erik moved more fiercely, greedy for his own pleasure now Charles had found his own. Almost growling, he set his mouth on Charles' fair skinned shoulder and made the last few punishing thrusts that pushed him to his peak. Charles moaned, as Erik jerked, filling him with wetness. Erik slumped, dizzy and breathless, onto Charles, before flopping off to lie next to him, gazing at the ceiling.

There was a long, peaceful silence. 

Eventually, Charles moved to sit up, slightly. He leant over Erik, staring at him, intently. Erik blinked back.  
“Alright?” Charles said, tentatively. Erik's face split into a wide, positively wolfish grin.  
“Oh, I'm more than all right, Charles. Far more.” Charles smiled, a little shyly, and placed a hand on Erik's leanly muscled chest.  
“I meant- was that- did I do-?”  
“Charles.” Erik said, rolling over and resting his head on his arm. “You did magnificently; and you know that.”

There was a short, startled pause, and then Charles said.  
“Well, I hoped. I mean, I enjoyed it, and you- you didn't mind I was”- he coughed. “But, I think I'm supposed to be modest-” “Not about _that_ , you're not.” Erik said. Charles raised an eyebrow. “No.” Erik said, more firmly. “I forbid you to be modest about it; you are altogether an amazing and exquisite lover and you should know it.”  
"Well, if you _insist._ ” Charles murmured, cheeks, crimson.  
Erik closed his eyes and smiled. Charles began to play with his hair. It was soothing. They drifted along happily for a while, and then Erik heard an extraordinary noise.  
“Was that your stomach, or the plumbing?” Erik said. Charles went pink.  
“My stomach. The Cavern of Genosha doesn't have plumbing.”  
“Did those dear geniuses who left you here alone and double-dosed with holdfast leave you any food?” Erik said. 

Shamed, Charles shook his head.

“Better have some of mine then.” Erik said, matter of factly. “Pass me my pack, will you?” As Charles moved to pick it up, Erik watched the ripple of torchlight play over Charles' fine pale skin and smiled to see such beauty, naked and unaware of it.  
“It's heavy.” Charles said, bringing it over.  
“Mostly bits and bobs.” Erik said, offhandedly. “Hope you like goat's cheese.” Charles smiled.  
“I like goat's cheese.”  
“Good.” Said Erik.


	4. Lucky Number Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheee, sex. And aftercare. And sex.

Erik pads off to the spring in the corner, with a cloth from his pack. Charles squints down at the lumpy thing; is that a swordhilt poking out of it? He badly wants to open it, but he restrains himself. Manners. It’s not his. Still, he’s curious about this- apparently god-sent- saviour of his mind and… various other parts.   
“Bread and cheese in the front pocket.” Erik says, over his shoulder, as he fills a cup and drinks from it in long, slow swallows. Charles blinks.

It is possible Erik’s weapon is not a sword, but his musculature, given the effect the simple act of taking a drink is having on Charles.

His various parts have begun reporting in, now that Charles is back in charge of his mind.  
Charles feels vaguely sweaty, sticky, and pleasantly sore. The consuming fire of the holdfast has subsided to pleasant warmth in his- very empty- stomach. For the time being, probably, but Charles thinks it’s likely to be bearable, now. The goat’s cheese is soft, and somewhat battered into shapelessness by its time in Erik’s pack, but it’s still good. Charles breaks off some bread, drags it across the cheese, and eats. 

Maybe it’s the setting, maybe it’s the hunger or the holdfast, but it’s possibly the best thing he’s ever eaten.  
“Hey.” Erik says, and Charles looks up, startled, to see him looking at the water dubiously. “It’s not an especially sacred spring, is it? Only-“  
“No, no it’s not.” Erik grins, scoops up water and splashes it down across his face and shoulders. The light from the torches strikes sparks of the clinging drops. 

Charles’ mouth goes dry, and he licks his lips.

Erik sees him doing it, and grins. Charles flushes, and turns his attention back to the food.   
“Here.” Charles looks up to see Erik- still distractingly naked- standing over him. “Let me clean you up?” He’s dangling a soaked cloth between his fingers.  
“I- oh, thank you.” Charles says, then. Even his chest is blushing, it seems. Erik smiles, soft and open, and runs the argh, cold, _cold!_ cloth over Charles’s shoulders and flanks.  
“Cold!” He yelps, and Erik chuckles.

“And clean.” He pats Charles on the leg. “Can you lean back for me?” Bemused, Charles does so. Erik lifts one of Charles’s legs to rest on his shoulder and swipes up the insides of Charles’ thighs. Charles shivers, skin goose pimpling with more than just cold. The cloth reaches his arse, and Charles squeaks.  
“Sore?” Erik asks, and there’s a soft note of concern in his voice that flusters Charles, badly.  
“I- Um, a little.” Charles says, shyly. Erik bends his head and inspects. 

Charles feels an odd mixture of exposed and aroused, at Erik’s steady regard of his most intimate places.

“No blood or tearing.” Erik reports, matter-of-factly. He presses gently, encouraging the come and oil to flow from Charles’ arse, and Charles has to bite back a moan. Erik wipes away, diligently, and Charles feels his skin tingling again. He shivers, and bites his lip. Erik takes Charles’ leg off his shoulder, and smiles.   
“You’re fine.” He tells Charles, cheerfully. Charles nods, still a little dazed. Erik looks at him for a long moment, and then kisses him. Charles kisses him back, food and water forgotten.

“You said a day and a night.” Erik says, when they break apart for air.

“What?” Charles mutters.  
“For the ritual; a day and a night down here.” Erik says, patiently. “Are there- do we have words to say, or other things to do?” Charles shakes his head.  
“No words.” He says, absently tracing his fingers down Erik’s arm. “It has to be done before the coronation-“  
“The _coronation?_ Erik says, sharply. “You’re- You are Charles _Xavier?”_ Charles nods, sheepish.

“You’re- oh you said you didn’t know- This is the ritual for the King and Kingdom. With you as Westchester’s representative.” He says. Erik’s eyes narrow.   
“So; that overdose, the isolation- someone didn’t want you to succeed, tonight.” Charles nods. He needs to know this.  
“If I hadn’t; if you hadn’t evaded their guards and barriers- I don’t know, but if I’d recovered from the holdfast, I’d still not be able to be King in my own right- the Regent would be needed past my coronation.”

Erik looks darkly thoughtful.  
“Sorry.” Charles adds, in a smaller voice “I should have- I thought you- Sorry.” Erik smiles, then, shaking his head.  
“I didn’t realise you were royal, on top of everything else.” A look of speculation crosses his face.  
“What?” Charles says, carefully. He doesn’t quite dare pull the answer out of Erik’s mind.  
“What, what?” Erik teases him back. Charles narrows his eyes.

“You- That look.” Erik looks sly, and amused. Charles wonders if he should find it as arousing as he does.  
“Oh, nothing.” Erik says, airily. “Only- I’ve never ridden royalty before. I wonder what it’s like?”  
“Ridden?” Charles says, breathlessly. Erik smiles like a shark.  
“Want to help me find out?” Charles nods, eyes wide, gaze fixed to Erik’s silver-blue eyes.  
“How?”

“Lie back.” Erik says. “And I’ll show you.” 

Erik’s fingers, Charles thinks, as he watches Erik prepare himself, are very beautiful. Charles’s cock seems to like them too; he’s already half hard before Erik straddles him, laughing. Then Erik bends his head and fastens his mouth on Charles’s left nipple, and “half” becomes “completely” very _very_ quickly.   
“Oh...” Charles moans, and Erik chuckles, moving to Charles’ right nipple. Charles gasps, as Erik sucks and bites the tiny, tender bud until it is as swollen and sensitive as the left one.

And then Erik shifts position and sinks down on him, and Charles yelps, banging his head on the stone underneath him, as slick tight velvet heat grips him, remorselessly. Erik inhales, and the muscles on his chest and in his thighs gleam as they move. Erik rises up again, and sinks back down, and Charles really wishes he knew some swearwords. Or any words at all, right now. They seem to have left his head.   
“Put- your- back- into it!” Erik says, breathless and intent.

Charles realises he’s allowed to move, more than allowed, expected, and his hips surge upwards to meet Erik eagerly.

They drive together, Erik riding Charles ruthlessly towards his peak. Erik’s own beautiful hands are busy on his cock, and Charles watches it all with dazed eyes. Erik rises above him like some mythic being of old, before sinking down onto Charles, again and again. Charles can scarcely believe his own good fortune, staring, as Erik tips his head back and cries out, coming across Charles’s chest in thick spurts. He’s not sure if it is the sight or the sensation of Erik’s climax that brings on his own. It’s intense, powerful enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Erik slides off Charles before the heavy weight of him has time to stop being comforting and start being uncomfortable. He runs a finger though the mess he’s left on Charles’s chest, and Charles gasps and twitches as Erik finds his nipples again, still sensitive from his earlier attentions. Erik hums, thoughtfully, to himself.  
“Too soon?” Erik chuckles, holding up a sticky finger. Curious as to how Erik tastes, Charles tilts his head and sucks the finger into his mouth. Erik makes a choked noise, and his eyes go dark and wide.

“Too soon?” Charles says back to him, innocently. As innocently as he can manage, anyway.  
“Maybe for me.” Erik concedes, with a tip of his head. His eyes gleam. “But… maybe not for you.” And his hand finds Charles’s nipples again.  
“Nnnhh.” Charles says. Erik must find this an adequate response, because he shifts himself over Charles, and starts sucking and tonguing Charles’s nipples again. Charles lets out a choked groan.

Charles can’t come again so soon, not really, but he’s so sensitive now, and Erik’s hands and his tongue have him straddling the fine line between too much and not enough, and-  
“Don’t forget the holdfast.” Erik says, sneaking down to grip Charles’s cock in a sure and unrelenting hand. “Come on. Lucky number four.” And he sets his teeth into Charles’s left nipple again. Charles shakes, and begs, and finally comes, crying out, in astonished disbelief. The cavern briefly dissolves before his eyes.

When the world is back, Erik is there, too, wiping Charles down tenderly. 

Charles rolls his head to the side and watches, still nearly wordless. Erik smiles at him. He offers Charles a cup of water, and helps him drink.  
“Where…” Charles croaks out. “New cup.” He adds, and Erik grins.  
“I made it from your trouser fastenings.” He says, happily. “I do hope they weren’t sacred, either.” The idea of sacred trousers makes Charles laugh.  
“No. Show me?”

Erik is delighted to show off for his king-to-be. Before Charles’s eyes, the cup reforms itself into a bird, a dagger, a suspiciously familiar long thick cylinder, and Erik smiles, meaningfully. Charles puts out shaking hands to touch it.  
“You might find a use for that.” Erik says. “But not, I think the rest of tonight.” Charles nods, tiredly. Erik smiles, again, and uses his powers- metallokinesis, very interesting- to drag his cloak over both of them.

Charles curls into Erik, tucking his nose against Erik’s collar bone. Erik smiles into Charles’s head, and wraps his arms around him.  
“Go to sleep.” Erik advises Charles, and promptly puts his own advice into practice. Charles lingers, just a little, to soak up the memory of being so thoroughly enfolded, by his kingdom, before sleep pulls him under, too.


	5. Check, mate.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Charles is _my_ king tonight. You can't have him." Erik said. Charles shivered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contans a man planning to rape some one, threats of defenestration, and a fade to black.
> 
> Also: NOT THE FINAL CHAPTER. Damnit.

The stone slab was not desperately comfortable, as a bed. Charles woke and stared at the rough ceiling, far above him. Erik was coiled around him like a somewhat bony and affectionate snake. He was sore, achy and more than a little stiff, but nothing hurt too much. A hot bath would hopefully fix most of it. Some of the torches had burnt out, while they slept, so it must have been several hours. Erik muttered low in his throat and pulled Charles closer.

Charles smiled into Erik’s chest. He’d never been as happy, as content, in his _life._

He hoped Erik would want to stay, at least for a little while. Maybe even past the coronation, Charles thought, wistfully. His first impressions of Erik had been a little blurred, between the desperation and the fear; but he did not think Erik seemed to be the kind of man who stayed anywhere for very long; he had been born in Westchester, thank goodness, from the ritual’s point of view, but he had also said he had travelled for many years, so it wasn’t likely he’d want to settle down for long. 

Charles sighed. The Markos would be disappointed when they arrived and found Erik and Charles happily ensconced in the cavern of Genosha. Disappointed, and also angry. It meant there would no need for the Regency past Charles’ eighteenth birthday. Would they think Charles had realised the delay between drinking the holdfast and Erik’s arrival had been deliberate? That they had moved against him, and the plot had failed? That would make them more dangerous still. 

Would it make them desperate enough to try again? Charles frowned.

“Thinking too much…” Erik muttered into Charles’ ear.  
“Sorry.” Charles said, and he hastily shored up his mental shields. Erik made a confused noise, and opened his eyes, squinting.  
“Where’d you go?” Charles turned his head to look at Erik’s sleepy face, marked with red lines from lying on the bumpy part of his cloak. A sharp, warm affection bloomed in his chest.  
“What?” Erik tapped his temple, and then Charles’ clumsily.  
“Where’d you go?”

Charles frowned, puzzled.  
“I- you said I was thinking too much, so I…” Erik winced.  
“Sorry.” He said, sitting up. “I didn’t mean it like that. Come on back.” Charles stared. Erik smiled at him, coaxingly.  
“You don’t mind?” Charles said, carefully.  
“I think- we’ve already been pretty close to each other in body.” Erik grinned, cheerfully lewd, “Why should I mind if we’re close in mind?” 

Charles allowed his telepathy to sidle back, and Erik’s smile broadened. Charles frowned.  
“Problem?” Erik said, eyes narrowing.  
“I- there’s someone coming.” Charles said. “The rock limits me, but I can feel him; he’s close. And…” Charles winced; the mind was _foul_ , stingingly full of anger and riddled with hatred and lust. It was also very, very familiar.  
“What?” Erik said, swinging his legs over the side of the slab. “What is it, Charles?”

Charles opened his eyes. “It’s Cain. My stepbrother.”

“Is it over so soon?” Erik said. “I didn’t think we’d slept so long.”  
“We haven’t; he’s here by himself.” Charles said, absently, as he listened in. “Ugh.”  
“Ugh?” Erik queried Charles turned to look at him.  
“He thinks- the holdfast, and being alone; he’ll be able to, to get what he wants from me.” Charles said, stammering slightly. Erik frowned “And I won’t be able to talk; not if-“  
“He’s planning to rape you.” Erik said. Charles nodded.  
“He thinks he can get away with it.” He said, and shivered.  
“Well, he won’t” Erik said, very quietly, and very, very angry.

“I-“ Charles wanted to apologise. Erik shouldn’t have to deal with-  
“Charles. Don’t apologise.” Erik said. “I’m honoured to be here.” He said. And don’t worry about Cain.  
“You can’t see his mind.” Charles said. “What he was planning.” Erik’s eyes darkened, dangerously. He took a long breath.

Erik held up a finger. “There’s a witness.” He held up another finger “You’re not incapacitated, as he’s expecting.” Third finger “And I will personally take great pleasure in castrating him and defenestrating him, should he breathe incorrectly in your direction.”  
“Erik.” Charles said, smiling helplessly. “We’re _underground._ Erik sprang to his feet.  
“Then I will carry him to a window that I can throw him through.” He said, gravely, and Charles laughed again.

Erik pulled on his trousers and handed Charles his shirt- Charles’s having been cut off him earlier- and they laid themselves down again, on the stone table, ready for action.  
“Of course.” Erik said, distracting Charles from Cain’s approach. “We could just give him an eyeful, be too, mm, busy to talk to him?”  
“I don’t think he deserves to see anything of us.” Charles said, tightly. 

Erik nodded, and spread his cloak over Charles’s legs. Footsteps sounded in the passageway, and Charles tensed. Erik called the sad lump of metal that had been Charles’s trouser buttons to his hand.  
“Who’s there?” Erik said, brightly. Charles stared at him. Erik winked. _=Trust me. I know what I’m doing=_ There was a scuffling sound, and a muffled curse. 

Cain walked into the chamber, stopped, and stared at Erik, as if he had three heads. Slowly, Erik looked Cain over from his head to his heels, and frowned. Then he wrapped an arm around Charles and grinned the most savagely lewd grin Charles had ever seen. Charles went faintly pink.  
“Hello, Cain.” He said, mildly. “Is the day over so soon?”  
“Time flies when you’re having fun.” Erik said, and stroked his cheek. Cain stared.

“How did you-?” he broke off. Erik stretched, casually displaying his torso. Charles had no idea how Erik could make the move appear so threatening.  
“I’ve no idea how I came to be here.” He said, lazily. “Got lost, in the tunnels after a gambling match; found myself here.”  
“Did you.” Cain said, mouth working.  
“Yes.” Erik said, calmly. “And I was glad; I’ve never had a more agreeable evening. Even if there _was_ only water to drink.”

“Who are you?” Cain said, staring belligerently. 

Charles opened his mouth, but Erik beat him to it.  
“Westchester.” Erik said, crisply. “For tonight, anyway.” Cain rocked back on his heels a bit. “What do you-“  
“Before the King takes up his crown, he must be taken by his Kingdom.” Erik said, sharply. “Isn’t that how the saying ruins? He has to give himself up to its representative. Charles is _my_ king, tonight. You can’t have him.” Charles shivered, hearing himself described as Erik’s.

“Why are you here, Cain?” Charles said, thoughtfully. “It still seems like-“  
“Well, I- just came to- I’ll be going then.” Cain said, and backed away, awkwardly. “Good to know you’re not- I’ll tell the others.” Charles looked down at his lap, shoulders shaking. Cain backed his way to the door and strode away again. Charles laughed out loud.  
“I’ve never seen him look so startled.” He said, delighted. Erik looked thoughtful.

“Charles.” He said, quietly. “I wonder- I didn’t like the look on his face; and I don’t like the way they were planning to hold onto power by hurting you.” Charles sobered up.  
“I know.” Charles said, quietly. “I’ll have to be careful, until I’m crowned.” He shrugged.  
“Possibly, after, as well.” Erik paused, and coughed. “Would- would you let me stay; just for a short time?” Charles blinked. That was- that sounded like-

“You need someone to watch your back.” Erik said. 

“You’re volunteering?” Charles said, hopefully.  
“It’s a nice back.” Erik said, and slipped a hand under the shirt, walking his fingers up under cloth to touch the nape of Charles’s neck. Charles shivered. How had he been so fortunate? Surely Westchester had done something, for him to have Erik, like this.  
“Erik.” he said. “I’d be honoured to host you for as long as you wanted to stay.” Erik smiled, and leaned in to kiss him.  
“It occurs to me.” He breathed into Charles’s mouth.

“We really, really want to make sure they know you’ve… been taken by your kingdom.”  
“Mmmm?” Charles said, thoughtfully. “How do you propose we do that?”  
“Well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words.” Erik said, slyly, fingers busy unfastening the shirt. “I’m sure a love-bite or two in a highly visible place is worth oh, fifty or so.” He grinned, pulling the shirt open. “Wouldn’t you say?” Charles smiled back.  
“It’s certainly an experiment worth trying.” Erik smiled, and leaned in. Charles’s eyes fluttered closed.

Erik’s lips found their way to Charles’s throat.


	6. Blow by blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Markos try and cause trouble, Erik troubles them right back.
> 
>  
> 
> Erik has a filthy mouth, and no shame.

Love bites were fun to give as well as receive, Charles decided. And what Erik could do with metal… it was astounding. He felt himself twitch, just remembering, but it appeared the holdfast in his veins had finally been consumed- a twitch was all there was in him. Charles felt vaguely relieved that the frantic fever in his blood had burnt out; but he missed some of it, all the same, as he watched Erik bend over too put his boots on. He didn’t think he’d be feeling amorous for at least a week. Erik smiled at him, slow and deep. Well. At least a couple of days, anyway.

Erik regretted having to transform the dildo back into trouser fastenings, after the fun it’s been, but the torches are burning low, and soon they’ll have to leave their little bubble and plunge back into the real world. And Charles, he could tell, would rather not face the people who attempted to kill or drive him mad, last night, whilst naked.  
“Here.” He handed the delicate belt he’d crafted to Charles. “This should work. You’re too thin.” Charles smiled, slightly.

“Look who’s talking.” He said, and gestured to Erik’s trim form. Erik snorted, and fashioned a pin to hold the trousers closed. Charles shivered as the metal flowed over his still sensitive skin. Erik smirked a little. The chafing would fade. The memories wouldn’t.  
“Oh, stop it.” Charles said. “Next time, I’ll use my mind, maybe make you think I’ve got four hands and seven tongues-“ He broke off, and bit his lip. He didn’t want to appear to assume anything.

“Next time?” Erik growled, pulling on his tunic. He skipped the shirt- it looked better draped over Charles’ torso, really. It was a nice torso, especially decorated with the bite and bruise medals of a successful bedroom campaign.  
“I- ah, if you’d like.” Charles said, lamely. Erik stalked closer and tilted Charles’ chin up to the correctly kissable angle with one finger, before pressing his lips to Charles’.  
“I’d like.” He said, “To try that, yes.” He kissed him again. “Also the idea of a next time. Many next times.” 

Charles did not blush as much as he had the night before. Erik nodded to himself. Challenge accepted.

Charles cocked his head. “They’re coming.” He said. “I don’t think my mother’s there.” He added, relieved. Erik frowned; there was something else to work out. In the meantime… He drew his sword from his pack, and belted it on. Charles blinked. Erik smiled.  
“It’s my favourite shortsword.” He explained. “I made it myself.” And there was no way he was facing these Markos unarmed, not after what they had demonstrated they were capable of doing to those in their power.

Erik tied his pack closed, and sat on the edge of the slab.  
“Come, sit.” He said, gently. Charles stopped his nervous pacing and drifted over. He leant on one leg, and nibbled at his lower lip.  
“There’ll be priests with them.” He said aloud. “They’re sort of the ones that we have to convince; but they’re looking for the end of the Regent’s powers, too.”  
“Hmmm?” Erik said, and tugged Charles’s arm until the young King-to-be sat next to him.

“The court tends to go where the power is- if I can convince them that’s me, then-“  
“Then you’ll have their support, too.” Erik concluded. “Is it really so likely you’ll need it?” Charles shrugged.  
“The Markos must have some confidence that people would support them- pushing a continuation of the Regency, or even disinheriting me completely, would take a lot of political capital to ensure.” He said thoughtfully. 

“Kurt’s not that stupid- he wouldn’t have made a move like this without backup.”  
“Ah.” Erik said, wrapping an arm around him. “And how does the country feel?”  
“You tell me.” Charles said, sly and amused. “How do you feel?”  
“Technically, I’m your Kingdom…’s representative, Charles.” Erik said, “But I can assure you, you’re a very popular monarch.” And he grinned back; just as the footsteps became audible. 

Erik shifted, slightly, and made sure his sword sat loose in its sheath.

The new torches were much brighter. Erik kept his seat as the room filled up with people; Priests, hangers-on, doctors. The Markos. Charles smiled smoothly at them, and rose to his feet easily. Erik stayed where he was. Watching Charles’s back, as he’d promised.  
“Gentlemen.” He said, and nodded. The priests and hangers-on knelt. Erik smiled, as Kurt prodded Cain until he bowed, too. “Please, rise.” Charles said, softly. Kurt’s eyes were dark with anger.

Charles stared back at him, steadily.  
“And?” the Regent demanded. “Did you complete the ritual?”  
“Yes.” Erik said, still sitting. “By chance, I was in the passageways last night, and I stumbled upon your King-to-be here.” Cain scowled. Erik smiled at him sunnily, while the crowd whispered and muttered. _Challenge accepted_ , he thought, cheerfully.  
“Are you sure?” Kurt said, suspiciously. “What did you-“

“Well.” Erik cut in. “First I sucked his frankly impressive cock.” Charles went scarlet. 

“Then we talked.” Erik said, thoughtfully. Kurt spluttered. “Then.” Erik said, warming to his theme “of course, I introduced my King to the delights of buggery.”  
“Of course.” Cain sneered.  
“I was quite careful, I assure you.” Erik said, sweetly. Some people at the back of the cavern appeared to be taking notes. “Then we-“  
“Thank you, Erik.” Charles said, pointedly. “I think we can satisfy the High Priest that the ceremony was completed without a blow by blow account.”

“Oh, my, yes.” Said the High Priest, gazing wide-eyed at the reddish-purple marks scattered across Charles’s throat and chest, where the too-large shirt gaped open. Erik grinned, ferally.  
“Such a sacrifice.” He murmured. “Although I don’t think either of us needs the attentions of a doctor. I endeavoured to make sure neither of us hurt the other in our passions.” Really, Charles needed to stop blushing so much. Kurt looked as if he was going to have a seizure. _Good._ Erik thought, viciously. Charles gave him a tiny smile.

“I- we don’t even know who you are!” Kurt said. “Just some ne’er do well who stumbled into the caverns?” He shook his head, bitterly.

“Actually, sirs, that is the _point_ of the custom.” The High Priest said, but he was ignored.  
“Drinker. Gambler.” Cain added. “Are you even Westchestrian?” he sneered, and then stopped, thinking hard. Kurt swung to look at his son, and Erik did not like the light in their eyes as they came to a sudden decision.  
“I have travelled.” Erik said, nodding solemnly. “But I was born in Westchester, as were my parents, and their parents, and their parents-“

“Prove it!” Kurt snarled, panting. “If you’re not from this country, the ritual is tainted- we’ll have to-“ The hangers on muttered, worriedly.  
“Erik is from Westchester, sir.” Charles said; eyes cold and voice colder. Cain sneered. “I assure you.” Charles added, calmly.  
“Assurances count for nothing, boy!” Kurt snapped, moving forwards, into Charles’s space. Charles leant backwards, but he did not falter. 

Erik stood, unhurriedly. He reached for his pack.

“You require assurance of my identity?” he said, calmly. Charles bit his lip. Erik turned his head to give him a reassuring smile. He strolled forwards, putting himself between the vultures and the King-to-be, almost absently.  
“Yes!” Kurt said. “We cannot allow a tainted-“  
“Cannot allow?” Erik said, hands busy on his pack. “ _You_ cannot _allow_?”  
“Erik…” Charles said, softly.

“Charles is your King.” Erik said, flatly. “Who are you to say what is allowed him?”

“Not yet, he’s not.” Cain sneered. Erik ignored him, and drew out of his pack a small bundle of letters and a cloth wrapped object.  
“Well, he will be soon.” Erik said. “To answer your question, then. I am Erik. House Lensherr.” There was a moment of absolute silence. Charles whirled to stare at him, ignoring everyone else in the room. Erik smiled warmly at him, and nodded an answer to the question in his eyes.

Small wonder if he was having trouble believing it. Erik Lensherr was a _legend_ , after all. Erik Lensherr was a wealthy and landed noble of Westchester. Only survivor of the attack that killed his parents, wandering hero- _troublemaker_ , really, was a better word for it, Charles thought, fondly amused. The only reason he wasn’t commonly describe as white knight was because no one had ever knighted him. _Yet._ thought Charles, with a sudden surge of determination.

“You.” Cain said, sickly. “ _You’re_ Erik Lensherr?” Erik nodded.

“Prove. It.” Kurt said, between his teeth. Erik smiled. Charles grinned.  
“My letters of nobility.” He said, handing over the papers to the High Priest. “My family’s heirloom.” He shook the cloth free to reveal a very battered silver coin on a chain. It was the Lensherr Mark, no doubt of it. “And my _other_ famous weapon.” Erik said, winking at Charles as he dropped to one knee, and drew his sword. He balanced the blade across his palms and held it out for Charles’s inspection. They shared a smile.

“Yes, yes, well, I think we can declare this complete.” The High Priest said, hurriedly. “Oh, my, yes.”  
“Thank you, your Holiness.” Charles said. The hangers on started to drift out. The Markos followed them.  
“Well, young man.” The High Priest said. “A challenging time awaits you, if your stepfather decides to withdraw his support. Are you ready for this?” Charles cocked his head, thinking.  
= _I love challenges._ = Erik thought, smugly.

“After a bath.” Erik said. “You can have a lot of fun in baths.” He added, to Charles, out of the corner of his mouth. The High Priest looked pained.  
“Let’s find out.” Charles said, to both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we are then. Only TWICE as long as originally visualised, too. Hope you all enjoyed. :)


End file.
